Notes from February
Anti-Fontaines D.C. Agenda, Claire Byrne Fucks With Me, Samantha Mumba Vs Donal Skeehan
Anti-Fontaines D.C. Radical Action Agenda
It will come as a surprise to no one that I hate the Fontaines D.C. I think they suck. I hate the attitude, I hate the noise, and most of all I hate that the masses are taking them seriously.
No tea and no shade to his appearance. But is that a shamrock tattoo? Maybe my hearing deceives me, maybe my ears are clogged or something, but if I’m not mistaken, they sound exactly like every guitar band in Manchester in the year 2012. When they come on the radio – which is all the time because they are somehow popular enough to be getting airtime on 2fm – I feel my throat gearing up to say “huh????”.
I don’t mean to be dramatic, I just thought we were past this.
I know that when I was a girl depressed young men waxing lyrical about the state of the world and then whinging about the “emotional tax” of being a successful rockstar were considered cool and sensitive.
But didn’t something change? Like, wasn’t there a general consensus that those guys suck?
I think if “Grian” had been at university with me he would’ve been shunned and abused for his moping and his pretentiousness and subsequently forced to take a long, hard, productive look in the mirror.
I mean, “In the modern world (world), In the modern world, I don't feel anything in the modern world”? If one of our classmates released a song with that chorus, wouldn’t we all listen to it together and be like: “Oh God love him, he’s got the wrong idea.”
I fear the popularity of the band will give the worst 21-year-old men in the country renewed confidence.
Unsure how best to rebel against Fontaines, I have decided to stan Inhaler. Of course Inhaler’s music is not really aligned to my tastes and I am not sure what I hope to achieve. Ultimately, I do feel that their music is the jubilant sound of well-off Dublin people who know two pieces of key information of which the Fontaines are ignorant:
they are lucky
they are not breaking any new ground
Tragically, only 2 days into my standom I heard Inhaler performing live on the Ray D’Arcy show. Alas, it seems Inhaler’s people are doing an awful lot of work in post to make Eli sound like his much more talented father. His voice is not a gift.
If anyone can think of a more effective way to show my resistance against “Grian” and his friends, do let me know.
I Have Given Up My Smartphone and Now I Think Everyone Will
I have now been without a smartphone for 3 weeks.
I have a terrible habit where I think everything I do will become a movement. Like, I run a small knitting circle in a cafe near my house and part of me believes that the Inquirer will come knocking and write a piece about how we’re creating intergenerational bonds between women (“Building Community Stitch By Stitch”) and then I’ll get so much media attention I’ll have to launch a nationwide knitting programme to combat elderly isolation and young person anxiety and it’ll be funded by the government and rolled out to every village and hamlet across the land.
I’m having the same thoughts about my smartphone-free life. I think people see me texting on my flip phone on the Luas and fight the urge to approach me and ask for my wisdom.
I know that none of this is true but I will be writing a full-length anti-smartphone manifesto at some point in the near future and sending it to you.
I’ll tell you all about it then but for now I’ll just say I love not having a smartphone. I am living in a world without podcasts and it is amazing.
Samantha Mumba and Donal Skeehan
Just bringing to your attention the news that 2000s sensation Samantha Mumba and Donal Skeehan are beefing. Things came to blows last Friday at the National Song Contest on the Late Late Show, in which Donal – who was on the panel and is seemingly angling for a career pivot away from cooking and towards critiquing – cattily said that Samantha was a “part of history” and that her song would not perform at the Eurovision
Samantha, who is for the record still snatched, advised Donal to “slowly choke on a bag of 🍆” and now he’s hawking all his aubergine recipes on Instagram
Left: Donal Skeehan (2008) unsuccessfully attempting to win the National Song Contest. Right: Samantha Mumba in her smash hit music video Gotta Tell You (named one of the 100 best choruses of the 21st Century by Billboard)
Claire Byrne Fuck With Me
Some of you may know that Loyal by Chris Brown ft. Lil’ Wayne and Tyga is my favourite song of all time.
For a long time in 2022-2023, I would put it on first thing in the morning every morning. My pre-9am routine was all about the three Cs: coffee, cigarette, Chris. So strongly was my presence associated with the song that when I was absent for any stretch of time, my flatmates would play Loyal around the house to create the illusion that I was in the other room.
Many musical elements make the song perfect to me but most of all it’s about the adlibs. I won’t close read every one – we’d be here all day – but I’d like to flag the beautiful vocal moment when after Chris sings “if she a bad bitch, let’s get into it”, he adlibs “right away”. It’s like he becomes an English choir boy. Right away! Let’s get into it right away!
Anyway, my point is about one of the most ambiguous and thought-provoking adlibs in the piece. It comes at the end of the first verse. Lil’ Wayne sings “I've done did everything but trust these hoes” and then adlibs “CB FUCK WITH ME.”
I’ve asked myself many times, what does it mean?
Is it a request? Chris Brown, come over here and fuck with me.
Is it a musical cue? Chris Brown, you should sing now.
Is it a celebration? Chris Brown fucks with me!
I noticed a couple of weeks ago that Claire Byrne’s RTE email address doesn’t follow the same format as all the others (joe@rte.ie, ray@rte.ie, brendan@rte.ie). Instead, hers is “todaycb@rte.ie.” Now, every morning when I’m listening to Claire and they’re encouraging me to email Today CB at RTE, “CB FUCK WITH ME” is the first thing on my mind.
And I think I understand it better as a result.
It’s a request: Claire Byrne, come over here and fuck with me.
It’s a cue: Claire Byrne, you should tell me the news now.
It’s a celebration: Claire Byrne fucks with me and with every citizen of this country!
Let’s get into it right away! My Nails
After years (decades?) of biting my nails, I stopped in mid-June so that I would look like a normal and clean woman for my sister’s wedding in July.
After the fleeting initial joy of looking like – and in many ways, being – a normal and ladylike woman, I entered an obsessive and ugly nail-based routine.
I became a stay-at-home mum to my nails. They demanded everything from me and were thankless in return.
Clean the nails, paint the nails, chip the paint, buy the gel polish and the UV lamp, find nail inspiration, peel the gel off. I considered paying a woman to paint my nails and remove that paint every 2 or 3 weeks. Every time I looked at them I’d think of that famous 18th century suicide note where the guy said: “I weary of all this buttoning and unbuttoning.”
This month I made the decision to start biting my nails again and I am so pleased.
Bonk Dylan
I went to see A Complete Unknown last week and I laughed and laughed. What a joy it was to be in the cinema that night.
The entire movie is like one of those tweets that’s like “Britney Spears met a young boy in 1998 and told him to believe in himself, and that boy… was Nelson Mandela” except that Britney Spears is Bob Dylan and Nelson Mandela is some random guy you’ve never heard of.
Throughout the piece, I did not understand any of Bob Dylan’s motives, thoughts, feelings or interpersonal relationships, and as a result I did not understand his decisions, what led to them, or their consequences.
Timmy did a wonderful job of coming across like a complete freak – his posture was remarkable.
brilliantly good !!